


Waiting

by wanderingsmith



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 17:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9669224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingsmith/pseuds/wanderingsmith
Summary: Billowing red cloth.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I play with 'em.
> 
> inspiring candy: [tumblr post](https://hairpins-of-doom.tumblr.com/post/156620295211/troublemakingrebel-if-you-ever-get-a-chance)

It was after they’d been traveling together a while, and dancing around each other pretty much as long. A good clean win throwing three knives good and fast, which had gotten Billy’s blood going with more pleasure than just outdrawing his gun, which just wasn’t much challenge. Goody impressed enough (and without gunshots to bring the past to mind) to whoop at the victory, grinning like mad, and voluble as fuck all evening at a fancy hotel to celebrate.

All in all, Billy hadn't felt like having his mood wrecked by dealing with drunken slurs, so once the evening started getting loud, he'd gotten up and headed to their room, gotten undressed to wash up, and then put off getting dressed again, being as it was damn hot and humid and he had the room to himself for a few hours, based on Goody’s usual habits. He'd figured he could layabout, sharpen his knives, oil his belt and boots, stare at the stars.. Be glad for his life.

He'd barely started on the second knife, working slow and enjoying the memory of nailing a trick-throw he’d been working, when he heard Goody’s familiar tread in the hallway. He was tempted to stay as he was; not like camp life in the desert left anything to the imagination between them. But he'd just be setting himself up to be over-conscious and twitchy: he still wasn't sure Goody actually meant half the shit he seemed to imply, and Billy enjoyed his company too much to risk losing it over greed for more of him.

He pulled the bed's almost silky red top cover half over himself as the door opened and Goody stepped in with uncharacteristic hesitancy.

"Billy?" Billy's brows rose at the almost apologetic tone and hunched shoulders as Goody looked at him searchingly, "You.. alright?"

"Fine."

"..Why'd you leave?"

Oh. Billy rolled his eyes, enjoying the freedom to be himself that he had with this man. Which made a hell of a lot of small sacrifices well worth it. He waved the knife in his hand toward where the stairs to the bar would be if there were no walls, "Didn't feel like dealing with drunk fools tonight."

Goody flinched slightly, regret pulling his lips down, "Oh. I.. sorry, Billy. I don't always-"

"Goody," Billy shook his head, forcing a stiff smile of reassurance on, "Just wanted to enjoy evening. Not have you defend me."

Goody nodded slowly, still looking as though he'd failed something. "You want me to..." his hand waved toward the door.

Billy shrugged, turning back to his work, "Not mad at you. Do what you want." As much as he enjoyed Goody's rambling presence, he wasn't about to keep the man from having his fun playing for an audience.

But a natural smile did pull at his lips when he heard Goody close the door and step toward his own bed, off against the wall adjacent to Billy's.

Goody started up his usual rambling as Billy put the knife away and reached for the next one, hearing the familiar soft sound of cloth slipping off shoulders and landing on a bed underscoring Goody's low voice, followed with the splashing of the wash pan. There was no sound of cloth going *back* over shoulders before the other bed squeaked and rustled, and Billy suddenly wished he'd set his pillow to face away from Goody's bed. And was damn glad he'd pulled the blanket on.

He heard the clink of their bottle of whiskey against a glass and Goody's rambling change to the rhythm and weird words of his quoting. Sometimes, Billy tried to make sense of the words, but today he was content to relax his mind and enjoy Goody's voice, glad Goody'd long since stopped worrying at Billy's silences.

The clink of glass on glass and the rise and fall of a warm gravelly voice was a good way to spend an evening, and Billy was smiling as he worked the dust out of the old gunbelt he'd looped a few of his knives on.

When the voice slipped to a tender croon, though, he couldn't help looking up as a shiver tingled down his chest. And caught Goody watching him as he sang, lounging across his bed, back to the wall, in nothing but his water-specked open shirt and half-undone pants. The words weren't the mangled English he claimed was the language of 'classics': they were clear and plain, for all Goody's drink-rough tongue twined around them as though it didn't want to let them go. And Billy could not help but reach for every one.

_The stars shine on his pathway,_  
_The trees bend back their leaves,_  
_To guide- ..him to the meadows_  
_Among the golden sheaves_  
_Where stand I, longing, loving,_  
_And listing, as I wait,_  
_To the nightingale's wild singing,_  
_Sweet singing to its mate-_

"Goody." Those pale eyes had startled when Billy had first looked up, a hitch breaking the words; a wobble that changed to more gravel as Goody refused to look away. And kept singing. Singing a love song and staring at Billy like a man.. longing. Until Billy spoke; however quietly.

Then he looked like a man waiting to lose a quickdraw. Unable to look away, but expecting to lose; or maybe to die.

Billy shook his head slowly, regretting having stopped the song, and yet.. he had to smile as he looked down, huffing at his own damn foolishness as he gathered his belt and rag in one hand. About to stand, he hesitated, thinking of eyes watching him. ..Drinking him in as appreciatively as Billy knew he'd done Goody, a time or two he was sure he wouldn't be caught.

In the silence, he could hear Goody's too-quick breaths, waiting for the next step in this damned two-step they'd been doing for too long. It wasn't natural to show off anything but his skills...

But he'd *liked* that look.

He moved slowly as he turned away from the man watching him from his bed, a few feet, a lifetime, away. Held the fancy cover as a shield before his naked but for drawers skin, feeling mildly ridiculous at the simile to modesty as he did it. Stood and carefully set his tools on his bedside table, his back to those eyes.

Then let the thin cover go, feeling it billow behind him as it slithered down.

Grinned in triumph at the sharply in-drawn breath he heard. Was reaching back with both hands when it was followed with a rasped whisper of "Oh fuck *me*.." that left Billy shuddering with arousal even as he got his pins out, feeling the wave of tickling softness slide over his shoulders and back, over his shivering skin, almost *feeling* the eyes watching him. He barely managed to drop the pins safely on the table with the almost-shake in his hands; heard a glass thunk raggedly onto a different table.

Then he turned and stalked to the man whose eyes were definitely responsible for the heat flashing over every inch of his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> Goody singing: [alas, not a love song](https://vimeo.com/194760277)
> 
> 'oh fuck me' strikes me as more of a modern thing than period.... but I'm going with it anyway..
> 
> I know nothing about this song, or its rhythm or sound. all I know is it came up on a list of song from the 1870s, and the lyrics are of a love song. which could fit the fic. -shrug- strangely enough, youtube did not have it on offer -pout-
> 
> "Waiting" (1867; 7 May 1884)  
> for Soprano or Tenor, Written by H. H. Flagg, Composed by Harrison Millard, 1830-1895
> 
> The stars shine on his pathway,  
> The trees bend back their leaves,  
> To guide him to the meadows  
> Among the golden sheaves  
> Where stand I, longing, loving,  
> And listing, as I wait,  
> To the nightingale's wild singing,  
> Sweet singing to its mate,  
> Singing, Singing,  
> Sweet singing to its mate.  
> Ah! Ah! Ah!
> 
> The breeze comes sweet from heav'n,  
> And the music in the air,  
> Heralds my lover's coming,  
> And tells me he is there,  
> And tells me he is there!  
> Come, for my arms are empty.  
> Come, for the day was long!  
> Turn the darkness into glory,  
> The sorrow into song!
> 
> I hear his footfall's music,  
> I feel his presence near,  
> All my soul responsive answers,  
> And tells me he is here.  
> O stars, shine out your brightest,  
> O nightingale, sing sweet,  
> To guide him to me, waiting,  
> And speed his flying feet,  
> To guide him to me, waiting,  
> And speed his flying feet.


End file.
